Chapter 31
by jmsutherland
Summary: Lucy considers the situation.


Page **13** of **13**

**Chapter XXXI**

For Lucy so much had changed in such a short time that it was not only hard to believe but difficult to remember what things had been like not so long ago. She didn't like to dwell on that as she had had quite enough of self-pity. Enough to last her several lifetimes, for she truly had been a wretch. Not only had she felt sorry for herself but most people she'd met had felt sorry for her too –she could tell by their faces. Not everyone, of course; for some people seeing another person down was an open invitation to jump up and down on their head. But that was a different story and one that might be getting retold sometime soon, to their great regret.

The first thing she'd done was change jobs. She still volunteered at the Sisters of Kindness, of course, as she hadn't completely given up on penance altogether, but she'd resigned from Bernie's as that had just been wallowing in it. Bernie had been sorry to see her go and had given her a generous payoff to help her on her way. Mind you, if she'd been trying to avoid contact with blood then her new line of work might be considered a bit daft: she'd taken up nursing.

She'd been working at Morpork Mercy for some time, of course, but that had been mostly cleaning, that and the odd bit of bone setting. It was this that had first brought her to the attention of Matron; along with her remarkable ability to learn. Matron had first off decided to lend her a book, the standard textbook that every doctor and nurse not only swore by but also swore on at their accreditation ceremony, _An Introducthion to General Medithine _byIgor & Igor. Lucy had given it back the next day. Matron had looked terribly disappointed.

"Too difficult for you, dear?" she'd asked.

"Oh, no, Matron, I've finished it," Lucy had replied.

"That's not possible!" Matron had exclaimed.

"Test me," Lucy had said, simply.

Needless to say she had passed the test, and every other test that Matron could devise, with ease.

It helped that she had a detailed, even intimate knowledge of human anatomy, was incredibly strong, had nimble little fingers that could cope easily with even the most delicate of procedures and wasn't in the least bit squeamish; all excellent qualities in any budding nurse. Oh, and she could anaesthetise patients just by looking at them. Like all vampires she was: highly intelligent, incredibly skilled, enormously versatile and hugely adaptable. They could have been a great boon to any society; if they hadn't been such monsters.

So, Nurse Lucy she became. She moved out of her dank cellar and into the nurses' home where, to her great surprise, she found that she enjoyed the camaraderie; she even liked her uniform. Admittedly, this had a way of hugging and accentuating her curves in a way that was the envy of the other nurses and was not at all good for any patient with a weak heart or a strong libido. She had close friend, Blister, who referred to her as her _bestie, _and even a boyfriend, who had taken her on dates and introduced her to his family. She had gainful employment, somewhere to live and a social life. She was, basically, _normal_, which for a vampire was about as weird as it gets.

Of course there were always going to be oddities. In spite of the débâcle at the picnic she and Smite had gone on another double-date with Blister and Patrick. It had been Patrick's treat -he seemed suspiciously well-off for a barman- and therefore his choice of restaurant. _La P'tite Folie _was a Genuan bistrot that was well known for being, among other things, incredibly expensive. So expensive, in fact, that they didn't even bother including prices on the menu. She'd ordered steak tartare for her starter, had a couple of glasses of Château Pomerol –which was absolutely superb- and ordered her filet de boeuf _bleu_. When it came it was slightly overdone or, as Blister would have it, raw. She was, to her own amazement, having a lovely time and then Blister had brought up her own favourite subject, sex.

She'd learned later, from Patrick, that she'd done this once before on a double-date, though the outcome on this occasion had been rather different from the previous one. What Lucy didn't know about sex wasn't knowable and what she hadn't tried wasn't worth mentioning, at least not in polite company. Blister couldn't have looked more shocked if Lucy had smacked her in the gob, which itself, wide as it was, was almost matched in wide-openness by her eyes. Smite wore the serene look of someone who was meditating and therefore not really present, while Patrick struggled to contain his laughter.

Though they had separate rooms, she and Blister shared a bed as often as not and giggled about it now –giggling, I ask you!- but at the time Blister said she'd been too stunned to be embarrassed, otherwise she'd have been mortified. Her gast had been well and truly flabbered. She'd then asked Lucy to undertake her education, which Lucy had, and discovered that Blister was almost as good a learner as she was herself. _Tout dans le jardin était rose._ Well, not everything. 

One of the reasons she'd become friends with Patrick was that he turned-up a lot at Injury and Urgency, having rescued another poor Omnian from gods knew what.

"Patrick, what's happening?" she'd asked on about the fifth occasion. Well, not _about_, _on_ the fifth occasion.

"How do you mean?" he asked, feigning innocence; which he did suspiciously well.

"There can't be more than a few thousand Omnians in the city but they constitute a large percentage of the people who end up in here."

"Oh, there are only a few thousand in the Egitto, but not all Omnians live there."

"Nonetheless," she persisted, "they are only a tiny fraction of the population, so why do I see so many of them here?"

"Because they are being attacked," he said simply.

"I know they're being attacked," she said, irritably, "but why are so many of them being attacked?"

"Because they're being targeted," he said.

"By whom, the newspapers?"

"Well, they don't help, but it's not just them, there are a lot of Black Cross wavers."

"Yes, I've seen that sign a lot painted on walls and on flags hanging outside shops. What does it mean?"

"I don't know," he confessed.

"That's not helpful."

"What can I tell you," he shrugged.

"Patrick, why do you help them? The Omnians, I mean."

"Because my girlfriend is an Omnian."

It was a good answer, though Lucy wasn't convinced that that was all there was to it, but she let it pass.

"So, why do people attack them?"

"Because they hate them."

"Obviously ," she snapped, "but why do they hate them?"

"Ah, there you have me."

"Anyway, aren't The Watch supposed to protect them?"

"Well, The Watch does its best," he replied, "but they just don't have the numbers, even with all the volunteers."

A lot of people, –dwarfs, trolls, humans…- including two of Patrick's colleagues, Bruise and Sheara- had signed-up to be _special constables_ –the equivalent of army reserves- to help out. The Watch was having problems dealing with the extra strain the Omnian attacks were putting on its already stretched resources, as it still had to deal with a lot of normal, everyday crime. Of course, a lot of what Lucy would have considered crime was perfectly legal in Ankh-Morpork. Provided that your crime was sanctioned by: The Guild of Assassins, The Guild of Thieves, The Guild of Lenders… or indeed the Guild of Shysters1, then it was none of The Watch's business. However, this was different. She'd probably have volunteered herself, if she hadn't been so busy.

It was no better asking Blister or Smite; hard though they tried they couldn't come up with any reason why people would hate them, at least not as much as they appeared to. Omnians were, almost universally –and very unusually for humans- decent, honest, caring, generous, brave… Lucy had wondered initially if it was jealousy. In addition to their civic qualities, almost all Omnians were physically very attractive. Was it that they made their fellow citizens feel inferior?

"Oh, no," Blister had told her, "they look down on us; they say we're liars, cheats and thieves."

The average Omnian was almost incapable of lying, cheating or stealing; like the average dwarf, and very unlike the average human citizen of Ankh-Morpork. Also, you'd know immediately if it were an Omnian that was doing you over. The reason Blister had been subject to so much abuse was that everyone knew she was an Omnian because of her brown skin and her blonde hair. You couldn't hide that you were Omnian even if you wanted to. This was also the source of most of the anti-Omite slurs that she'd been hearing more and more of. _Blondie _or more often _bleachie_ –to suggest it was fake- about their hair. _Coffee_ or _gravy_ about their skin, though there were much, much nastier ones. Didn't people have anything better to do? And if they had to hate someone then why not choose someone like moneylenders rather than Omnians? They certainly caused a lot of misery and they were never Omnian. Usury had been forbidden in Omism even before Brutha had turned up.

Things had been nasty for quite a while now and had been getting steadily nastier almost by the day, yet somehow tonight felt different, and not in a good way. There was, she felt, a certain tension in the air. Of course there was always a fair amount of nervousness in I&U on a Saturday night. Most citizens of Ankh-Morpork only got one day off a week and they seemed to like to spend it either: sick, unconscious or nursing bruised or broken limbs. But on this particular Saturday night it was more than that, and her vampy-sense told her that everyone else felt it too.

She went up to Blister, who was coiling bandages in the main treatment room and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Aaaargh!" screamed Blister, nearly jumping out of her uniform and nearly scaring the drawers off everyone else in the process, including Lucy. The Lady Lucrezia had scared the lives out of a great many people in her time, but always on purpose, and not for a very long time.

"Oh, gods, I'm sorry!" she gasped, clutching the front of her apron.

"No, no, no, no!" Blister panted, "It's OK. I'm just a bit jumpy tonight."

"Yes, I know," said Lucy, "you almost jumped through the ceiling."

"I think we're all on edge for some reason, hadn't you noticed?"

"Yes," Lucy affirmed, "like we're on the edge of a very sharp blade."

The thing was that even the Igors weren't quite as calm as they usually were, and these were people who were normally relaxed even when being pursued by a torch-bearing and scythe-wielding mob through a violent thunderstorm towards the edge of a precipice.

"What do you think it is?" asked Blister, her eyes darting everywhere as though she was hoping to spot the source of the problem.

"I don't know," said Lucy, "though Smite seemed worried this afternoon and said he had a bad feeling about what was going on around the Egitto over the last couple of days."

"Yes, Patrick said the same," agreed Blister.

"At least Patrick doesn't have to go and sort it out!" she snapped.

Blister looked startled and Lucy blushed. A blushing vampire was it now!?

"I'm sorry," she continued, "I'm just worried about him."

This was actually almost more worrying than blushing or giggling. She could not previously remember having worried about anyone other than herself, and even then not that much. This was all perfectly normal for a vampire, unnaturally, but to be worrying about someone else was, well, worrying. Especially how much she felt herself worrying about Smite, which was quite simply far more than was unnatural.

Shame came over to talk and looked, if anything, even more unsettled than anyone else.

"I have a very bad feeling about tonight," she said, her lip trembling.

They both nodded. A minute later the first casualties started arriving and worrying was no longer something they had time to worry about.

At first it had been no more than a trickle, just the usual limping-wounded: cuts and bruises, plus the odd broken bone and serious wound. It was only after the first Watchmen turned-up that it started to get bad.

Lance Corporal Igneous had a comrade under each arm: a human and a dwarf –Sergeant Dixon and Lance Constable Freyasdottir- whom he dumped in the foyer and then headed back out. Though there were an increasing number of patients and their injuries were getting worse, they were all highly trained and were treating them at tempest speed. As far as Lucy could see they were not only coping admirably but could probably cope with even more. And then Smite was carried in.

She was out of the door faster than a whippet after a ball. Smite didn't need her –he had doctors and nurses- but his mother and sister did, and they needed her now. Could she run fast enough? She wondered or would she have to…and then, suddenly in front of her, was Dirty Bobby. Up until now Lucy had had two ways of dealing with muggers: if she had money she would let them grope her until they found it and didn't she would simply run away. Dirty Bobby always liked a good grope and was far too stupid to realise that this really wasn't going to be his night.

He reached out one huge hand almost casually –he'd done this so often before- as Lucy tried to slip past him, as she'd often appeared to try to evade him before. On this occasion, though, she caught his flailing paw and, almost casually, broke all twenty-seven bones in it. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open in what was almost a caricature of a scream as his face turned salt-white, but that was just the initial shock. By the time the real pain hit him and he passed out Lucy was already a hundred yards away and accelerating. But not fast enough, she decided, no time, as her clothes fell to the ground in a pile and a flurry of bats headed towards the Egitto.

They could see part of the mob heading up the Zarkom's street, breaking windows and kicking in doors. They circled briefly to get an overall view and could see that the Watch was in control in the rest of the Egitto and driving out the rest of the thugs; it was only here that they persisted. So, they began their descent in an almost vertical dive, unifying as they did so and starting to boil. Because of Sally people in The Shades knew better than to set upon a small, skinny, naked girl all alone late at night –if they valued their sanity- but these weren't people from the shades and in any case, tonight, Lucy really couldn't be bothered.

What partially materialised in front of the mob had four limbs but they were really only lengths of darkness tipped with claws. The head was something between a pig and a shark. She hadn't been able to make up her make up her mind, but it had a lot of teeth: all sharp and some very long. The bullies had actually started running even before they saw her. On this occasion her rage was preceding her, as the flash goes before the bang. Still, she raked a few backs, just for the look of it, as she didn't want to get dressed-down for nothing.

And then suddenly she was a small, skinny, naked girl running towards the Zarkom's house, her bare feet slapping on the cobbles. When she reached the house she saw, to her huge relief, that that it was undamaged -the sods obviously hadn't reached this far- but she had to make sure. She knocked on the door, no answer. She knocked again, a bit harder, but there was still no reply. She was about to start banging when she remembered something that Blister had been teaching her called _empathy_. She bent down, flipped-up the letterbox and called:

"Mrs. Zarkom, are you there? It's me, Lucy."

If someone had tried that trick on her she'd have seen through it in an Ankh-Morpork minute, but these were different people. She could hear the commotion immediately and within seconds the door was thrown open and she was confronted by Mrs. Zarkom's terrified face, which transformed immediately into an expression of appalled concern.

"Oh, you poor child!" she cried, "what have they done to you!?"

She threw her arms around Lucy and hugged her so tightly that she might have hurt herself, if Lucy hadn't relaxed her body in anticipation. And then there was Bom hugging her too and all three of them were bubbling. Lucy wondered if, in a very strange life, this might not be the strangest day of her whole existence.

"Have you seen Smite?" asked Mrs. Zarkom in a very worried tone.

"He's in the hospital," said Lucy to their frightened faces, "but he's alright, just minor injuries," she added reassuringly.

One of Lucy's many talents was her ability to assess the extent of a person's injuries with little more than a glance. It was a very useful skill for a nurse but, of course, that wasn't why she'd evolved it. When you were hunting you had to know how fast your prey might be able to run. She decided not to fly back.

"I'll take you to him," she said, "it's safe out now; The Watch is in control."

"Are you sure you're not hurt or…anything?" asked Mrs. Zarkom, looking over Lucy's nakedness.

"Oh, this?" she said waving her hands up and down, "I got my dress caught on a fence." And she used to pride herself on being such a good liar.

"Well, if you're sure," said Mrs. Zarkom, doubtfully, "but we'll need to get you some clothes."

It turned out that Bom's clothes were a little too small –though only a little, and her shoes fitted- while Mrs. Zarkom's were a little too large – though only a little and Lucy's morphogenic field took care of that.

"It looks really…good on you," said Mrs. Zarkom, wondering, slightly anxiously if she'd been walking around all this time looking _that_ sexy without knowing it.

The three of them walked to the hospital together hand in hand, with Bom in the middle and Mrs. Zarkom clutching the front of her dress instinctively, though in truth, given her escort, there was probably no one safer in the whole city.

After offering Smite some soothing words, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the forehead Lucy left him in his bed and to the tearful ministrations of his mother and sister. After checking with Matron that things were under control and that she wasn't needed, she went to volunteer for the Watch. There was a cross between a donkey and a horse that was going to get seriously kicked.

1 They had formally been known as the Guild of Lawyers but had decided, unanimously, that "shyster" sounded less disreputable.


End file.
